Memorial Days are for writer's block.
Journalistic spirits that lost their gust.
Gymnasium visits that lost that D Amato, Cus.
Not being Carl Lewis tough any longer.
The spirit of Olympia, world on your shoulder.
At last you can throw boulders via script.
Pens that saved lives. Cured stage fright.
Monitored bickering with short measurements.
Balking at ten dollars a pen prices
as laughing chairman consider that cheap
at poetry readings. As sharp as you dress?
Memorials. Thirteen orals and you're touring.
Oracles memorizing memories. Membranes
that just hum triumphantly when you change.
Adrenaline doesn't drain. Writers just recuperate.
Recuperation should never need memorial.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem